Reverberations
by Spades
Summary: A tribute for the loss of Alan Rickman.


"I suppose with any good writing and interesting characters, you can have that awfully overused word: a journey."~ Alan Rickman

(!)(!)(!)

He woke with a gasp, blinking rapidly to bring the ceiling of his bedroom into focus. Eyes darting around the room searching for what woke him, his hand started sliding towards the table by his bedside where his wand sat. Senses finally confirming that no one was here, he sat up and waved his wand to light the illumination globes. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and resting his elbows on his bent knees, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. His pajama trousers were twisted around his waist and pinched behind his knees from his tossing and turning.

Dropping his hands to clasp in front of him, he watched as his fingers lightly stroked and rolled his wand. Staring at the implement, he let his mind wander to what might have woken him up. He felt an almost overwhelming sensation of sadness and loss...grief. His brows twitched and furrowed, puzzling over what could be causing him to feel those sensations.

Casting a quick _Tempus_ , he realized there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. It was only another hour or so until sunrise. Standing to head for the kitchen to make a cup of tea, his feet slowed as he moved to pass the bureau. Something seemed to be calling him from the top drawer; something whimpering for him to pay attention. Without looking, he reached out and pulled the drawer open just enough for his hand to reach in. His fingertips touched the small vial still protecting the precious memory it held. The memory of a dying wizard; the tears which carried his memories of what had happened and what he had done. Sacrificing himself, his soul, his mind and body, in the name of unrequited love.

Withdrawing his hand, he pushed the drawer closed and summoned his clothing. Tea wasn't what he wanted. Dressing quickly, he tucked his wand into his pocket and apparated away.

(!)(!)(!)

The coolness of the early hour shocked him for a moment. Going from a warm flat to the cold outdoors was an unexpected change; one he should have anticipated. Pausing only long enough to confirm where he had landed, he started walking. The gates stood open to him in silent welcome. The only noises around were his own footfalls and his quiet breathe in the cool air as he moved down the forest trail. He could see the bridge ahead, long repaired from the final battle. The statues stood sentinel, ready to protect the school and its inhabitants if called into service once again. Off in the distance, jutting from the surface of the dark lake, a small island where another grave rested. But he wasn't here to visit that one. His feet took him along the bridge until a new sound reached his ears. Stopping and turning, he glanced back in the direction he came from, seeing two other forms following in his footsteps. He recognized them as they neared.

"Neville...Luna. What are you two doing here?"

"Hello, Harry," Luna murmured, looking out across the water.

Neville smiled briefly at her before replying. "Honestly? We both felt like we needed to come. Almost like we were called."

The taller man shrugged, unable to explain better and Harry couldn't argue. He knew what they were talking about. He had felt drawn here as well. The three former classmates continued walking, eventually stepping onto the damp ground heading towards the path that led down to the Whomping Willow. Harry knew what was located there. The secret path to the Shrieking Shack and Severus Snape's tombstone. The tree was surprisingly still and the stone near it stood in eternal silence for the man buried beneath its shadow. Coming to a stop to stare at the stone, all three turned when noises reach them. From the shadows stepped Hermione, Ron and McGonagall. That seemed a cue to others as people started to emerge from the night shadows in silent camaraderie. Most Harry recognized but others were unfamiliar. Yet they all had profound expressions of grief on their faces.

"What is everyone doing here?" Harry asked softly as Hermione and Ron approached.

"No one knows for sure, Harry. We all felt the need to be here. To mourn someone," she replied uncomfortably, casting a glance towards Ron.

"Yeah, mate. The need to come to Snape's grave of all places. But not really Snape...if that makes sense."

Harry glanced around at all the gathered people once again. "But why tonight? This isn't the anniversary of Snape's death."

Ron looked at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. "I had to listen to your theory all the way here. You fill him in."

Ron walked away to mingle with those who came, leaving Hermione to explain. His girlfriend grimaced and stepped closer to Harry so they were both looking down at the grave. "I've read of these types of things happening in other areas. A prominent or crucial figure passes away and on some random day those closest to the individual felt the urge to go to the grave and mourn. A popular theory is that there are multiple other realms...or worlds, where we all live. Ourselves, only...in different lives. A world where there's no magic...or in outer space among alien species...or where angels are common with wings. And that when that same prominent or crucial figure passes away in another world...the loss creates a shockwave so strong that it spans the realms or worlds."

Harry nodded, quite accustomed to following Hermione's train of thought by now. "So...you're saying that Snape's alter ego-"

"Alternate realm Snape."

Harry blinked. "Alright, alternate realm Snape, died and his death is sending shockwaves through the other worlds?"

Hermione hesitated before nodding. Harry silently agreed and looked up at the skyline, seeing the lightening from the oncoming sunrise. Footsteps interrupted them and they turned to see a tall middle-aged man approach and stop. His auburn hair was short enough yet still moved slightly with the breeze; his neatly trimmed beard was salt and pepper in coloring. His black suit and dark grey duster seemed perfect for the sombre mood as he stared at the tomb. It was an uncomfortable silence until Harry cleared his throat.

"And you are?"

Dark eyes flickered up to glance at them before dropping back to the tombstone.

"Hans Gruber. An old friend of Severus. We met in Los Angeles at a Christmas Party years ago. Haven't seen him since but we had stayed in touch. He always called me Mr. Cowboy."

Without another word, the man spun on his heel and stalked away, moving around people and disappearing into the retreating shadows. Harry and Hermione were shocked at the abrupt departure but kept their silence as another voice reached their ears.

"I've calculated your chance of avoiding shedding tears, but I don't think you'll like it. I'm feeling very depressed."

In the distance, away from the crowd stood a man dressed in black clothing with a cloak. It wasn't like Snape's usual robes and this man had a sword sheathed at his hip. He stared at the two young people as Ron approached his friends. The man with the sword turned and departed, his cloak flaring behind him as he too disappeared.

"That one was weird. He said Snape once threatened to cut his heart out with a spoon. Not that I'd doubt that for a second, mind you. He said his name was Nottingham. George Nottingham," Ron said with widened eyes.

"Oh yeah, George is the dark and brooding type."

The three turned and looked at the fifty-something looking man standing next to the tombstone. He wore a pair of jeans and a thick jumper with a leather jacket over it. He looked like someone's retired father.

"Severus knocked some sense into me and saved my marriage. I would have lost her if it wasn't for him. I was such a bloody idiot, but he set me straight" he murmured and rapped his knuckles atop the stone.

Before any of them could reply, the man turned and walked away through the gathering crowd. More former students of Snape's had appeared: Seamus, George, Ginny and many more. Draco and several other Slytherins were there as well.

In their mourning, they were all equal.

The sun peeked over the horizon and just as the light struck Snape's tombstone, a new word etched itself into the top of the stone. 'Always.' Everyone could see it and no one questioned it. They all dealt in magic, the magical world; something like a word appearing on a tombstone wasn't surprising. The sun slowly rose to cast a warm glow over everyone that stood there. One by one they approached the stone and nodded in respect before departing in silence until no one was left except the three best friends and a single man that was slowly approaching from the stone bridge.

The man looked exhausted and sickly, his grey almost white hair framing a long face. Warm brown eyes observed the three young adults and a small smile graced his lips. Harry suddenly felt like he should know this man. This man was important.

"You must be Mr. Harry Potter, Miss Hermione Granger and Mr. Ronald Weasley. I'm a big fan," the man said, reaching out to shake each of their hands.

"Sorry, and you are?" Hermione said, caught off guard by the man's familiarity with them.

"Name is Alan Rickman. Severus was...almost like a brother to me."

"Oh...would you like to get some tea...or breakfast with us?" Harry asked and knew the answer when he saw the smile turning sad.

"No. I have to be going. I'm being...called away."

The man moved around them, heading towards the tombstone and the three friends shrugged, their footsteps leading them away.

"Hey."

Harry, Hermione and Ron stopped to look back at the old man. "Take care of each other. Please. Severus would have wanted you three to be safe."

They nodded. "We will."

The old man nodded, smiling weakly as he continued on his way. A moment later...he was gone. Harry blinked and Hermione took a step forward while Ron took a step back. There was no where the man could hide but he was gone. No sound of apparition, no flash of light from a spell. He was just gone.

"But...where?" Ron asked, spinning in place to look around.

Harry glanced at Hermione and they both spoke at the same time.

"Alternate realm."

They smiled slightly and all three continued towards the castle. McGonagall had invited everyone for breakfast. A breakfast to honor the unknown man they had all come together to grieve over. Some other visage of their own Professor Snape, another equally great man and undoubtedly one of the best.

(!)(!)(!)

My tribute to the memory of Alan Rickman and a few of his characters. He was one of the best actors of our time and all his characters spoke to us on various levels. This idea was running around my mind after seeing all the lovely postings on Google Plus and Facebook. RIP Alan Rickman, you will be missed.


End file.
